


shepherd of the stray hearts

by sunsetpanic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, also blowjobs, oh god the sap, sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 10:31:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/417838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetpanic/pseuds/sunsetpanic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But because Stiles is apparently the patron saint of crushes on people he doesn’t have a chance in hell with, it doesn’t work that way. Instead he catches himself watching Derek furtively whenever he’s in Derek’s general vicinity. Actually, lately he mostly just feels twelve again, which is awful on too many levels to name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	shepherd of the stray hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [violentcrumbles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/violentcrumbles/gifts).



Stiles sometimes likes to sit down and sort his sixteen years out different ways, combs through sharp-edged fears and memories worn smooth by repetition. Some of them he takes out regularly: meeting Scott for the first time and the ensuing paint fight that left them best friends, the first time his dad told him he was proud of him, the last good month he had with his mom. 

There are others, though, he avoids, handling them gingerly and only when he has to: the first time his parents told him about his mother's cancer. Or, worse, the last time his mother told him she loved him (awful only because he took it so much for granted, really). 

Then there's the petty shit: the huge, huge crush he had on Derek Hale at twelve, which makes Stiles cringe with embarrassment every time he thinks about it (which is often, these days). And, okay, in Stiles' defense Derek had been sixteen and ridiculously gorgeous-aloof in the way that only teenage boys can be. Stiles hadn’t known him, really, but the Hales had been pretty well known around town, before the fire, and it had been almost too easy to build up an idea of Derek as this-this tragic hero. Someone who looked as lonely and wrecked as Stiles felt. It hadn't lasted long-Stiles mooned over newspaper clippings and stared at Derek in the grocery store and just generally made a hideous ass of himself for awhile, basically. Then, a few months later, Derek and his sister had moved away and Stiles, with the fidelity of most twelve-year-old boys, fell promptly in love with Lydia Martin. 

And that’s pretty much the status quo for four years, until Scott’s furry little problem pops up and Derek comes abruptly and terrifyingly back into Stiles’ life. And it turns out that he’s a dick, which should totally crush any attraction Stiles ever had to him. But because Stiles is apparently the patron saint of bad ideas and crushes on people he doesn’t have a chance in hell with, it doesn’t work that way. Instead he catches himself watching Derek furtively whenever he’s in Derek’s general vicinity. Actually, lately he mostly feels twelve again, which is awful on just too many levels to name. 

And maybe because Stiles hurts a little when he looks at Derek, because sometimes he thinks he sees that sixteen-year-old looking out of his eyes, still. But that sixteen-year-old never looked twice at Stiles, and not much has changed since Stiles was twelve. He’s still perpetually falling over things and stuck in that awkward phase that everyone he knows apparently managed to avoid, and Derek is even more gorgeous and it’s hopeless. 

Stiles doesn’t really have time to feel sorry for himself, though, is the thing. He’s too busy keeping Scott (and Jackson, and Lydia, and sometimes what feels like half the town) alive. Sometimes it feels like he got voted in as Beacon Hills’ Official Nursemaid and everyone forgot to tell him. In between bouts of danger, sometimes he makes unsuccessful attempts at things like ‘homework’ and ‘eating’ and ‘having an actual life’. He’s not sure why he even tries, honestly. 

It doesn’t really help that the last few weeks his job description has shifted from ‘help keep everyone safe from the forces of darkness’ to ‘keep everyone safe from each other’. There’s not much going on, is the problem, and they’re all _bored_. Yeah, most of them are super-strong werewolves, but they’re also all _teenagers_. Lydia and Jackson have broken up and gotten back together about twelve times in the last month, as far as Stiles can tell. And Scott skips training constantly because he’s busy dedicating half his life to mooning over Allison and the other half to angsting over Allison. Derek needs to bite some actual grown ups. 

So, of course, when Scott has yet another Allison Breakdown during one of the trainings he actually shows up to (they broke up again? or maybe got back together again? he needs to make a flowchart for this shit), Stiles is the one who takes off to try to comfort him. And when Scott proves inconsolable, Stiles is the one who goes back to Derek’s to try to smooth things over. Again. As soon as he gets out of his car, though, he notices something’s off: Lydia and Jackson’s cars are missing. Great. 

He thumbs to Lydia’s number in his phone, swearing under his breath. She picks up on the first ring, which is a terrible sign-Lydia _never_ answers Stiles’ calls that quickly. 

“Derek kicked us out and told us not to come back. Ever,” she says without preamble. “He’s probably still in there sulking.” 

“You mean brooding in a manly fashion,” Stiles corrects automatically. “Derek doesn’t sulk, that’s for ten-year-old girls and Jackson.” He pauses as he processes the rest of what she said. “Oh. Fuck. That’s bad.” 

“No shit. I think he really meant it.” She sounds uneasy, and oh fuck, yeah, this is bad if _Lydia_ is nervous. 

Stiles reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, and drops his hand hastily when he realizes he’s doing an uncanny impression of his dad. “So what do we do now?” he asks, and prays that Lydia won’t ask him to- 

“Talk to him, Stiles. He’ll _listen_ to you,” Lydia hisses just before she hangs up. 

Stiles stares at his phone and considers just fleeing to Mexico instead, but discards the idea pretty quickly. Lydia would find him, and if she’s not scarier than Derek she’s definitely meaner. It would be a slow death. He sighs and trudges up the steps, bracing himself as he pushes open the door. 

“Hey, Derek.” Derek, who is glowering and looming in a doorway like the killer in a shitty horror flick. _Awesome_. Stiles gulps. “So, um, about that tant-that very manly anger that you have going on there. You wanna talk about that?” 

It turns out that that was actually not a great opening line, which Stiles figures out really quickly once Derek has him up against the wall, his forearm braced to keep him still. 

* * *

Of course Stiles showed up. Derek’s not sure why that would surprise him at all: he’s livid, he’s lost all patience with the idiot teenagers that he’s been babysitting for the last three months- _of course_ Stiles would think it would be a good idea to come in, act like Derek was a cranky two-year-old in a bad mood, and want to _talk about it_. 

“What.” He knows he sounds threatening, and that’s good. Stiles needs to learn that pulling this kind of shit is a bad idea. 

Stiles winces, but meets Derek’s gaze levelly-he reeks of fear, but it doesn’t show on his face. “They need you, and you know it. And yeah-Jackson’s an arrogant jerk, and Scott’s-well, Scott. But they won’t survive if someone doesn’t look out for them, and I think you’re a decent enough guy that you’d feel bad if they died. And I-” His mouth twists into a reluctant lopsided smile that Derek’s never seen before. He looks calm enough, but his heart is thrumming under Derek’s hands, like Stiles is a hummingbird or a mouse, some fragile wild creature that he isn’t handling with enough care. “I need you, too, if that makes a difference. I’m just asking you to give this whole thing one more chance. I’ll help you out if I can.” He sighs. “That’s it. You can eat me or throw me out or whatever if you want now.” 

Derek takes a step back, his anger shifting to bemusement mixed with a little guilt. He always forgets that Stiles is older than he looks, really. The chattering buffoon he shows to the world isn’t anywhere close to the truth, and forgetting that and underestimating Stiles was a mistake on Derek’s part. It always is. 

And he’s right. Goddammit. “I won’t make any promises, but fine. You win. I’ll talk to them about it.” 

“I win?” Stiles is clearly not prepared for this. “I mean, yes, I win, great. I’ll just go ahead and spread the good news. Away from here. Where they are.” He looks at Derek like he’s waiting for permission. 

Derek doesn’t give it. “You need me too, you said.” The words come out rough and low, more intimate than he had intended them to be. “What did you mean by that?” For a moment everything goes still around them: he wonders, distantly, why he’s doing this _now_. He’s felt an unwilling pull towards Stiles for months, now, and he’s managed to ignore it pretty well. Stiles is older than he looks, yeah, but he’s also so fucking young-Derek recognizes the fear and uncertainty that Stiles’ brash confidence can’t hide just yet. It’s like no one ever taught him how _dangerous_ being that open is, and that’s infuriatingly attractive to Derek. That kind of vulnerability stopped being an option for him a long, long time ago. 

Stiles full-on _blushes_ , his previous composure totally gone. It’s weirdly endearing, like most things about him. “For protection! Against the forces of darkness. Also, research, and knowledge, and also many other good scholarly reasons. That’s all. Wisdom, yes indeed, that is my passion.” He starts edging away. Derek retrieves him and pins him again-this time by his wrists.

They’re not quite touching, now, and Stiles' breathing is increasingly shallow. His eyes are fixed on Derek’s mouth. 

Well. This is interesting. Derek reaches a hand up and brushes his thumb against Stiles' bottom lip. Being gentle doesn’t come easy to him these days; his years of solitude have worn most of his tenderness away. He tries anyway, moving up to stroke along flushed cheekbones, and is rewarded with a sharp intake of breath. “You sure about that?” 

If there’s such a thing as a good fight in this situation, Stiles is definitely fighting it. He nods furiously. “Yes! Absolutely.” 

“Then why aren’t you running?” He takes a risk and moves both hands down, slipping a thumb underneath Stiles' shirt and tracing the soft skin over his hipbones. “I won’t stop you,” and Derek’s a little worried that that might be a lie. That he won’t be able to stop touching Stiles now that he’s started. 

But Stiles doesn’t run-doesn’t move, even. He just _stands_ there for a minute, eyes narrowed in thought, watching Derek. And Derek watches back. Maps Stiles out with his eyes: dark hair, pale skin dotted with freckles, sweet crooked mouth, long-lashed amber eyes-a handsome face that he hasn’t grown quite into, yet. ( _because he’s **seventeen**_ , Derek reminds himself, but that doesn’t stop him wanting to keep Stiles close. Closer than he should). 

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Stiles uses his free hand to bring Derek down until their foreheads are touching. “You’re not fucking with me, right?” Derek can feel him trembling slightly, either from nerves or from the chill of the house, and he smells a little like fear and, overwhelmingly, like lust and hope and something else, something unfamiliar. 

( _home_ , a treacherous voice whispers inside him) 

Derek reaches out without thinking and thumbs Stiles’ bottom lip, reveling in the way Stiles parts his lips, leans into the touch. He’s gorgeous like this, open and wanting, stripped of everything but need. He opens his mouth, starts to tell Stiles that, but it comes out as “No. Jesus, come here.” 

Everything blurs together after that. Derek slides his hands up under Stiles’ arms, maneuvering him back against the wall. Stiles moans into his mouth, all restless energy and heat. He doesn’t stop moving-his hands are on Derek’s neck, blunt fingernails grazing up and down and leaving Derek shivering, then moving down to Derek’s waist and under his shirt to pull Derek in closer. 

This should not be happening. Stiles is seventeen and half out of his mind with hormones and Derek should be an actual adult here and stop this before it goes any further. 

Instead, he leans down and nudges at the crook of Stiles’ jaw until he takes the hint and bares his throat to Derek. Derek growls his approval when Stiles arches into Derek’s mouth on his neck, his teeth scraping over delicate skin. Whatever shreds of conscience Derek had left evaporate. “Bed,” he manages. “Up.” 

Stiles blinks at him dazedly for a second before he gets it. He looks _wrecked_ , lips red and bitten and pupils huge and dark. “What. Yes. Holy shit, yes.” 

* * *

Jesus Christ he’s-Derek is-Stiles abandons thought in favor of getting to the room with a mattress that Derek likes to call a bedroom as fast as humanly possible. It’s possible that he’s afraid that Derek’s going to change his mind, but Derek’s right behind him as he steps through the door, his fingers lingering on Stiles as he strips his shirt off and pushes him down on the bed. 

Stiles gets a little nervous when Derek doesn’t make a move to join him on the bed. He’s just _staring_ , and the whole ‘somehow fucking with me’ theory is starting to rise up again in Stiles’ brain when Derek is suddenly _right there and straddling him_ , holding Stiles down by his wrists and growling in his ear: “Jesus, Stiles, do you have any idea what you look like right now?” 

“No?” Stiles manages, and then Derek gets them both totally naked with truly appalling speed. Which, naked Derek, _awesome_ , but Stiles still has the lanky could-be-called-wiry-if-you’re-feeling-generous body he woke up with this morning, and he’s feeling more than a little self conscious about that now. He casts around a little for a sheet. Or a towel. Or an animal pelt, which Derek totally has lying around somewhere, because _come on_. He finally settles for just curling up slightly and hoping against hope that Derek won’t notice. It is definitely not his smoothest moment. 

Derek settles himself beside Stiles, leaning up against the wall. He gestures impatiently, and it takes Stiles a second to realize he’s supposed to sit on Derek’s lap. Fuck. 

“If you don’t come to me, I’ll have to make you come to me.” Derek says it like a threat, like that’s in any way something that’s going to be a problem for Stiles. Actually, Stiles suspects he means ‘yank you over and probably bite you to punish you’, and that does not sound _nearly_ as bad as it should. Stiles flips over and throws a leg across Derek’s hips anyway. Derek makes a pleased noise deep in his chest. “Good boy.” 

Stiles should really be objecting to this. Instead he makes a truly embarrassing noise that is way too close to a whimper for his peace of mind. Derek traces down his back, gentle and ( _sweet_ , Stiles’ mind supplies, but that can’t be) 

warm. 

Derek pulls him down and kisses him slow and slick, moving a hand to stroke along Stiles’ collarbone and back down to his waist, and it’s easy in a way Stiles hadn’t imagined was possible. He pulls away when something occurs to him. It takes him a second to pull together the courage to say it out loud. 

“Can I try something?” His voice is miraculously steady. “I-” And there it goes, replaced by a hot blush. “I want to suck you off.” Jesus, did he just say that? Fuck. 

He’s vindicated a second later, when Derek’s breath stutters just barely and his hands tighten on Stiles’ waist. “Yes.” He doesn’t say it so much as groan it, and that’s more than a little hot. “If you’re sure,” he adds reluctantly. 

Stiles stares at him incredulously. “Are you- _yes_ , I’m sure.” He slides down from Derek’s lap, hands smoothing nervously down Derek’s thighs. 

His courage falters a little when he’s faced with Derek’s cock. He’s done his fair share of research on this (watching blowjob tutorials on YouPorn totally counts, right?) but this is a whole different league. He leans forward hesitantly and licks up the shaft, shivers a little when Derek arches into it. Encouraged, he moves up and wraps his lips around the head, sinking down and taking as much in as he can, down . Derek’s hips start to cant up and he stills suddenly. In response, Stiles hums a little and tugs encouragingly at Derek’s hips. He’s had more thoughts about than he’d like to admit that involve Derek holding him down, making him _take_ it-and he has no idea if he’s ever going to get another shot at this. 

“God, you’re hot like this,” Derek murmurs, voice thick with want. “Your _mouth_ -you fucking love this, don’t you,” and he’s on board with this, thrusting up hard and fast. It’s almost more than Stiles can take; his jaw is aching, but it’s a good ache, he’d keep this up _forever_ if he could. 

He moans in protest when Derek’s hands cup his jaw, urging him off and up into a hot, urgent kiss. “Want to see your face,” Derek says, and Stiles doesn’t get what he’s saying for a second. He does a second later, though, when Derek grins, feral, and wraps a big, hot hand around both their cocks. Stiles is bucking up before Derek even moves, mindless and desperate with lust. 

“ _Derek_ , fuck, I want-” but Stiles doesn’t get to finish the sentence. He’s coming way too quickly and harder than he’s ever come in his many years of solo experiments. Derek follows him a few moments later, and seeing Derek like this-unguarded in a moment that belongs totally to Stiles, is almost (almost) as good. 

Neither of them makes any move to get up afterwards. Stiles is pretty sure that neither of them is capable of it. Finally Derek looks down, smirking. “You’re filthy,” he says, running a finger idly through the mess of come on Stiles’ stomach. 

Stiles makes a face and punches Derek lightly in the shoulder. “One, whose fault is that?” he says. “And two, you are pretty much the blackest pot right now, hygiene-wise.” Derek shrugs. 

Probably they should get up and shower or bathe in the creek or whatever it is Derek does. Probably Stiles should go home and get his homework done. Probably. 

Derek shifts over and extends an arm invitingly. Stiles curls into him and decides that showers and homework can wait for later. 

* * *

When Derek wakes up, the room is filled with warm golden light. It’s late afternoon, probably five or six, but he’s too comfortable to want to get up and confirm that. When he glances down, Stiles stirs as well, smudging a sleepy kiss into the crook of Derek’s jaw and humming contentedly when Derek tugs him up for more. They stay like that for a while, trading lazy kisses. It’s more peace than Derek’s known in a long time. 

“I had a crush on you when I was twelve, you know,” Stiles confesses a little later, burrowed into Derek’s shoulder. “I totally stalked you, there were trenchcoats and bushes involved. It was super creepy.” 

Derek presses a kiss to Stiles’ temple. “You, creepy?” he teases, and dodges the punch Stiles half-heartedly aims at his shoulder. “You had awful taste, I was sixteen then. Not my best year.” He knows the last part comes out bitter, can’t help it. It’s a ridiculous understatement: at sixteen his hormones and idiocy got most of his family burned to death. 

He can feel Stiles tense up a little beside him and starts to regret the words, waits for the inevitable awkward condolences and hasty subject change. But Stiles is quiet for a long moment, then moves in a little, his hands cupping Derek’s face carefully, and kisses Derek like he’s telling him the best kind of secret-hushed and sweet and somehow sacred. 

When he pulls back there’s a hesitant smile on his face. “I have _awesome_ taste,” he says with exaggerated indignation. “The _best_.” 

Derek rolls his eyes, but he can’t help smiling back just a little. “The best,” he agrees. “Shut up and let me sleep, Stiles.” 

Stiles does, and they do.

**Author's Note:**

> I hear some people like to write stories with things like 'plot' and 'character development'. Maybe I'll try that someday! Today is not that day. 
> 
> Title from 'Shepherd of the Stray Hearts', by Lovers.
> 
> For scikopathik, the most long-suffering beta ever (and the awesomest)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Podfic: Shepherd of the Stray Hearts by sunsetpanic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/524680) by [striped_bowties](https://archiveofourown.org/users/striped_bowties/pseuds/striped_bowties)




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